ways. When
teams passed, we did not look up; when a wagon rattled, we did not know
whose it was, and we said we did not care. When one of our neighbors
remarked, casually, "Heard Bill Smith's team go by at half-past eleven
last night. Wonder if the's anythin' wrong down his way," we stared at
one another in amazement, and wondered, "Now, how in the world did he
know it was Bill Smith's team?" We smiled over the story of a
postmistress who had the ill luck to be selling stamps when a carriage
passed. She hastily shoved them out, and ran to the side window--too
late! "Sakes!" she sighed; "that's the second I've missed to-day!" We
smiled, but I know now that if I had been in that postmistress's place I
should have felt exactly as she did.

When we began to realize the change in ourselves, we were at first
rather sheepish and apologetic about it. We fell into the way of sitting
where we could naturally glance out of the windows, but we did this
casually, as if by chance, and said nothing about it. When August came,
and dusk fell early and lamps were lighted at supper-time, I drew down
the shades.

But one night Jonathan said, carelessly, "Why do you pull them all the
way down?"

"Why not?" I asked, with perhaps just a suspicion.

"Oh," he said, "it always seems so cheerful from the road to look in at
a lighted window."

I left them up, but I noticed that Jonathan kept a careful eye on the
shadowy road outside. Was he trying to cheer it by pleasant looks, I
wondered, or was he just trying to see all that went by?

Jonathan's seat is not so good as mine for observation. A big deutzia
bush looms between his window and the road, while at my window only the
tips of a waxberry bush obscure the view, and there is a door beside me.
Therefore Jonathan was distinctly at a disadvantage. He offered to
change seats, suggesting that there was a draft where I was, and that
the light was bad for my eyes, but I found that I did not mind either of
these things.

One day a team passed while Jonathan was carving. He looked up too late,
hesitated, then said, rather consciously: "Who was that? Did you see?"

"_I_ don't know," I said, with a far-away, impersonal air, as though the
matter had no interest for me. But I hadn't the heart to keep up the
pose, and I added: "Perhaps you'll know. It was a white horse, and a
business wagon with red wheels, and the man wore a soft felt hat, and
there was a dog on the seat beside him."

Before